


Life's a Stage

by SquickersCat



Category: Clone High
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28185195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquickersCat/pseuds/SquickersCat
Summary: When Cleo suggests JFK joins Clone Highs annual theatre club to try and swoon more hot broads with his wonderful voice and rock-hard abs, things take an unexpected turn when he doesn't get the role he wanted, but meets the person he possibly needed to meet in his life.
Relationships: JFK & Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High), JFK/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High), Van Gogh - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter One

Theatre club. Those were the only two words racing through John's mind as he strutted down the familiar halls of the High School. He had never been one for the schools electives and clubs, besides the sport-related ones, that is. He had been looking around for more broads to toy around with lately, and low and behold the hot broad herself, Cleopatra, told John to join the theatre. 

Theatre? Was she being messed in the head by Abe? Why when he outta get his hands on that stupid side burned- well what Cleo was saying was that if John got the lead role, all those hot babes would swoon over his amazing acting skills, AND his rock-hard abs.

Women liked two things from John's experience, hard abs, and hot pick-up lines. He could sneak a few of those into the script.

His thoughts came to a halt when he bumped into a shorter, twig-thin figure. 'AhCK-' was the only noise coming from the smaller person, as they fell onto the floor dropping their belongings. Paintbrushes and papers scattered across the floor, much to the shorter person's dismay.

"Oh- er, uh..sorry pipsqueak." John chuckled out nervously. "Let me uh..help you with that." John knelled down and started grabbing the numerous art supplies sprawled across the floor, handing them to the other, who was already holding a portion of what had fallen as well. Whilst handing them to him, he actually got a good look at the others face.

"Hey, you're er uh- that kid! The painting kid! You er- sure taught Gandhi a lesson that day! Haha." John said, sounding enthusiastic. He wasn't one to laugh at the mockery of his friends, but what Gandhi did, he had it coming to him clear as day. The smaller one finally spoke, after what seemed like an eternity of anxious silence. "Yes- I do suppose that was me. I also do suppose I taught him a rather..small- lesson."

"Ey! I see what ya did there! Man- he er uh, is NOT packing!" John laughed, his laugh was rather light-hearted, but still had a tinge of mockery, echoing from the times he had unknowingly bullied Van Gogh. He didn't care who he bullied, just as long as he was bullying people and looking cool, he was doing it right.

Van Gogh remembered those memories, and didn't want anymore of them. He quickly shut everything down, and went to his monotone, raspy-voiced self. 

"Don't you have places to be, JFK? Oh, or wait, do you want to snap more canvases in half. I don't have any more. So might as well just snap whatever the hell you're holding now." Van Gogh rasped out at him.

John was taken back by what the smaller figure had just spat out at him. He had just helped him pick up all his stuff! What was he doing now?!

"Well er- all right then, feisty! I'll leave, but know if ya ever uh, talk to me like that again- you'll be dead!" John hollered as he walked away from Van Gogh.

Van huffed, as he shoved everything else into his bag, swinging the bag over his shoulder and went to his final class, unknowing of what was about to happen after the next 45 minutes.


	2. Chapter

Van Gogh scurried out of his final class, dodging everyone in the crowded hallways. The only benefit of being short was the ability to not get trampled and squished between his classmates, due to his relatively short stature. He didn't like getting too into detail onto why he was so short, but he didn't have to worry about telling anyone, as no one really asked, except when it was rhetorical, ready to mock him the next second after finishing the question.

Van Gogh pushed himself through the rooms of the auditorium, looking around. Huh, guess he was the first one here- besides the teacher, Mrs. Silse. Mrs. Silse was one of the more liked teachers. She was young, peppy, understanding, and pretty enough to make Marilyn Monroe jealous. 

"Oh, Hello there! Did you come for the Theatre club?- wait, of course you did! Hello again, Van Gogh! It's wonderful to see you again for a third year!" Van Gogh had been attending theatre for three years, but he hadn't ever actually acted. He was always doing the props and the painted backdrops. 

He didn't hate it one bit, in fact, he thought it was more enjoyable than acting. The ability to have his art shown, without anyone knowing who actually painted it, and then hearing the talk through the hallways about the backdrops the next day at school was always so thrilling. 

"Yes, I guess it has been three years. It's wonderful to see you too, Mrs. Silse!" Van Gogh chimed, for once he seemed more peppy and happy than usual. Besides doing art by himself, he loved doing art for theatre, and talking to Mrs. Silse. She was like the mother he had never had, with her caring nature and mother-like charm. She never pressured Van Gogh when painting, and gave him extra paints and supplies, which he always gratefully accepted, repaying her with sketches and paintings he could make during his free time after school or during the actual play, when all his work was finished.

Mrs. Silse checked him off on the attendance sheet, as Van Gogh placed his bag in front of the stage, grabbing his brushes and pulling his smock out of his bag, putting it over his head, onto himself. He put the paint brushes into the front pocket of the pastel-blue smock, patterned and splattered with different hues and shades of all kinds of paints, from acrylic to oil. 

The two waited as more students sprinkled into the auditorium, some new faces, some old. Once (almost) everyone was checked off the list, Mrs. Silse got everyone's attention.

"Alright! Welcome to this year's annual theatre club! I'm so excited to see all these familiar and new faces! I know you all dread this, but we have to introduce ourselves to everyone one by one. Yes, it is mandatory, no, you cannot lie that you are someone else." She batted an eye at Napoleon, who had said he was George Washington one year, which people actually believed- and a whole mix-up had started, delaying the play by a couple days.

"Now that's over, let's start off with...you!" Mrs. Silse pointed to a random student to start off the introductions.

"My name is- Alexander Hamilton. I'm..a great writer, but not a hum..great speaker-" The student spoke sheepishly, who then slunk down into their seat. 

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Silse cheered, as she called on another. 

"I'm Edgar Allen Poe, and I believe, for one, I am QUITE frankly the better writer in this predicament, and a much better speaker than that Alexander fellow over there." Edgar proclaimed, as he stood up, scoffing. 

"Now, now, I'm sure everyone is a great writer and speaker here! Let's move on now-" Mrs. Silse ushered. Students one by one said who they were, and one thing about them,

now talking about what they were trying to sign up for. Whilst all of this was happening, John snuck into the auditorium, sneaking over to the group that were all introducing themselves, and plopped himself into the group.

"Alright- Van Gogh, would you like to introduce yourself? I'm sure everyone already knows you by now but you can still go if you want!" Mrs. Silse offered, to which

Van Gogh accepted, who started to speak. 

"Well- I'm Vincent Van Gogh, as Mrs. Silse previously stated. I usually do props and backdrop designs..and- I'm hoping to do that this year- I'm pretty experienced in it. I've been doing it for three years now-" Van Gogh was cut off by a few awestruck stares and 'oohs' as they heard him mention backdrops. 

"Hey! You did that wheat-field backdrop for 'The Wizard of Oz' play that one year, right? That was awesome!" One member cheered

"Yeah, I remember that! I loved the drive-in theatre backdrop from Grease that other year as well! The detail on the movie screen made it look real!" Another member hollered excitedly. Van Gogh blushed from all the praise, but quickly sat down to stop the spotlight from being on him. 

"I think that's everyone! I believe we are ready to st-" The teacher was quickly cut off by a voice hollering from the back of the group.

"I er uh- Think you didn't ask about me. This is uh, theatre- right?" John questioned, as members of the group looked at him with scowls and some fear. Why was HE here? JFK targeted almost all theatre kids, and then all the sudden decided to join? Something about this wasn't right, and they all sensed it- Except the teacher, who knew nothing about student drama. 

"Oh, I guess you're right! I don't think I even checked you on the attendance list- you're..John F. Kennedy?" She questioned.

"Yep! That's er uh- me. You can just call me JFK." He responded, with his casual voice.

"Well alright then. Welcome to the cast, JFK! I'm Mrs. Silse."

"Heh, uh- nice! I'll just uh.. sit over here." John unknowingly took a seat next to Van Gogh, staring off into space as the teacher spoke and rambled on about what parts would be given to who, listing who was where. 

"Since you all should have emailed me a video with your acting skills reading off of a pre-made script I gave you all last week, I was able to give you your parts already to save time!" Mrs. Silse happily spoke, as she pulled out a piece of paper from her bag. John after hearing the word about roles, snapped back into reality. He already knew he was getting the lead role, but paid attention just in case to correct the teacher. 

"Alright! On the costumes team, we have Alexander Hamilton, Elizabeth Keckly and George Washington Carver!" The listed names grumbled, obviously not happy with their roles, but like that cursed phrase goes, 'You get what you get and you don't get upset'. John felt bad for those losers, too bad he was getting the lead!

The other groups were listed, such as Edgar Allen Poe being a director, along with Shakespeare, and Homer. Other names such as King Tut and Napoleon were listed, all that was left was John's awaited part as lead role. 

"And for our special lead role of this years play, we have..Harry Houdini!" Mrs. Silse cheered, as the group clapped and applauded Houdini, all except John, who was mentally fuming with rage. HARRY?

HARRY HOUDINI? Ptooey. Like he could be any good actor. He seemed like the worst actor out of all these nerds. Joining was a stupid idea. This was probably all a plan made by Abe, who he manipulated Cleo into making John join.

Everyone departed into their groups, except John, but as Van Gogh left his seat next to John, he was stopped by Mrs. Silse. 

"Van Gogh! I know you love working alone but this year things are a bit different. You'll be working with JFK! This is his first year in the theatre club so please try to be easy on him? Oh why am I even telling you this, I know you will! You're one of the reasons I love teaching, Van! You're a wonderful student. You two have fun now! Oh- wait- here are the instructions and script for this year's play! I need to go check in with the others now, bye!" Mrs. Silse sped off to help the other soon-to be actors.

Van Gogh anxiously peered over at John, who was staring right back at Van. 

"Great. I'm stuck with you- you uh..er- feisty pipsqueak ginger! Yeah that's er uh- right! I remember you." John sneered, trying to be rude to get back at what happened in the hallway.

Truth was, he couldn't be mean to Van. Now noticing him more and more, he felt a bit of pity. He's always by himself, even in a big theatre group, he's all alone working away on the backdrops in his own little world.

"Well that's fine. You'll slack off anyway like you do in all your other classes, there's no relative quote on quote 'hot broads' in this class, so have fun with that. I'll be backstage getting materials for the backdrop. Don't bother doing anything." Van Gogh spoke through his teeth, as he walked away to the back of the stage, coming back out shortly after with large, thin pieces of wood which he was going to paint into a backdrop. 

Van Gogh had to paint all of that? MULTIPLE of those? John stared in awe and confusion, there were around a dozen backdrops and several props for each play, and he did this for two years! How could someone so small and quiet do something as great as this? John got out of his seat and walked over to Van Gogh.

"Hey er uh- fun-sized!" John said as he walked over, leaning his elbow on Van's head like an armrest. "This is some real nice wood. You should let me help! You er, uh- seem better as an arm-rest anyway! Ahehe!" John laughed as Van Gogh pushed him away, grabbing a paintbrush out of the pocket of his Smock, and opening a small bucket of grayish-blue wood paint.

"I'd rather not be an armrest, thank you. Why do you even want to help anyway? So you can take all the credit and act like you've been painting all of these the entire time? Well go ahead, It's not like anyone noticed mine or my clone fathers artwork at all." Van Gogh bitterly spoke, as he dipped the paintbrush into the bucket, starting to paint the base color of the sky for the backdrop. 

John wouldn't let him see, but those words actually hurt him. Did no one really actually notice his art? John wouldn't admit this either, but he thought Van Gogh's art was beautiful. The way. the colors blended, whether smooth or choppy, and how each brush-stroke told a story. It was wonderful! John thought art was just a bunch of stupid arranged paint blobs on some paper, but he saw it as much more now.


	3. AUTHORS NOTE! NOT A CHAPTER!

Hello! Hope you all are enjoying this so far! Right now I'm gonna get about, two more chapters done, and then not post for a few days. I'll try to post a chapter every two days, but I might make them either short or post longer ones in more spread out timespans. I don't wanna drag the fanfic on or make it seem to short! Hope you'll like the rest!


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Van Gogh is able to talk about some of his art with an unlikely person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SO SORRY FOR GETTING THIS OUT LATE-- I had some troubles with family and lots of things have been going on, but here is chapter three! It's extra long to make up for lost time. Winter break starts tomorrow so I'll be able to get out a few more! Sorry if this chapter looks a bit rushed, I just want to make sure yall know I'm not abandoning it!

It was the next day after school, a Thursday to be exact, every Tuesday and Thursday, all clubs were put off, but every other day of the week they were in session. Van Gogh was huddled up in his jacket, his rain boots splashing gently into the puddles with each step he made. He usually enjoyed walking home in the rain, being inspired by all the gray and blue hues, but today was different. He felt cold, and not just physical. That small yellow spark inside of him was hushed out like the dying flame of an almost completely-melted candle. He was lost in his droopy, rain-soaked thoughts until he heard the sound of a car pulling up beside him, the muffled Elvis Presley music becoming clear as the window of the slick red car pulled down. 

“Hey- er uh, Vinny! It’s uh, wet!” John stated, his usual dumb-founded, voice. He stared at the short ginger-haired student, adorned in his usual attire, excepted with his gray shoes now swapped for bright-yellow rainboots, glossy from the rain. He had a folder under his jacket with numerous papers in it. He didn't care about the other things in his backpack, he only cared about what was in that folder. He looked as if even a single drop touched that folder, it'd dissolve, like acid rain.

"I'm fully aware of that. Look at the ground, look at the sky. It's raining. It's obviously going to be wet outside. You're wasting my time by starting this conversation. I need to get home". Van Gogh quickly spoke, sounding rushed and panicked, as he continued to walk, but was cut off by John started to talk again.

"You know..you'd get home a lot faster if I gave you a ride home." The boy in the car suggested, leaning slightly out the window, smirking at Van Gogh.

"NO! Do you think I'd get in a car with the most popular guy at school? It'd ruin your image, it'd attract attention to me, and for all I know you'd drive me out to the middle of nowhere to jump me! I could've been home by now at this point." He sneered.

"Well the rain is just going to get worse and worse. Hop in the car and I'll take you home." John advised as he unlocked the door to the front passengers seat, waiting for Van Gogh to open it and get inside. Van Gogh stared for a moment at the car, and looked at the sky, noticing the darkening clouds. 

"So?" John questioned, staring at the boy standing in the rain.

Nothing but silence came from Van Gogh as he reached a hand out for the car door, opening it, and sitting down into the seat, closing the door behind him as John started to drive off in the rain, the two remaining silent for a while until John broke the silence.

"So..Whatcha got in that er uh- folder of yours?" John asked, trying to start up some form of conversation, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Nothing too important"- Which was an obvious lie-"Just a few sketches for art class, some anatomy practice, a few still life portraits. Nothing you'd like- or anyone would like to be honest..." Van Gogh signed, as he stared out the window, holding the folder closer to him.

"Hey! I'm sure it's uh- great! I'm not uh, one for art, but I'm sure it's got to be real great, especially comin' from someone as talented as you!" John chimed, smiling. Van Gogh was blown away by what he had just heard. Did John just...compliment his art? John F. Kennedy? The dumb jock? The most popular kid in school? complimenting the art of one of the most quiet and un-noticed students in school? This had to be some form of daydream. Did he zone out in one of Mr. Sheepmans lectures? Something had to be happening.

"Were here!- I think. This is uh- you're house right?" Van Gogh snapped out of his thoughts when he heard John asking him the question. 

"Oh- Yes! This is my house. Thank you for driving me, JFK." Van hopped out of the car, still holding his stuff close to him.

"Eh, it's no problem, Vinny! Hey, why don't we hang out for a bit? John cheered, hoping Van would say yes. He knew Van and him didn't have much in common, and that he probably hated him, but hey, why not give it a shot! On the other hand, the nickname John called Vincent rung through his mind like a loud echoing church bell. Vinny? Did JFK just give him an..actual nickname? Not one that was offensive or hurtful, or used to taunt him. This nickname was a genuine friendly nickname. 

"Oh- uhm- of course..! The place is a bit of a mess- My foster dad has been going through a few things." Van Gogh tried not to think too much about the name, but it lingered around like a shark circling its prey in the water. 

"Aw, neat!- Not er uh, your dads issues- I meant to the uh, hanging out! Eheh.." John hoped he didn't sound too excited or too sympathetic. As much as it sounded weird for him to admit it, he really did want to be friends with Van Gogh. Not for the rumors and drama, not to use him for his art, nothing like that. He just wanted a good quiet friendship, one away from all the hype of the school. He loved the hype of the school, don't get him wrong, but he just needed a little bit of quiet time, which he was hoping he could get from Van Gogh.

Van Gogh gestured for JFK to follow him, as they both walked towards the pale yellow house. The house was a rectangular shaped house, a long greyish brown porch with white accents stretching across, along with the same greyish brown color roof. Plants were hung in small pots around the porch, with three rocking chairs sitting on the porch, facing out to the street and beyond at the now setting sun.  
Van Gogh opened the door and moved aside, allowing JFK to get in. The inside of the house was cozy and had a feeling of comfort. The light brown wood hallways were lined with multiple paintings Van Gogh had made, some even being from when he was still in early middle school, some even from elementary. The hallway split into two directions, to the kitchen and the living room, though at the end of the hallway right by the meeting between the kitchen and living room was a large mahogany grandfather clock. The living room was small, but not in a bad way. It was a small space to where you felt like you weren't out in the open and things were out to get you. The pale cream-colored furniture matched perfectly with everything else, like puzzle pieces. They were just meant to be. Shelves across the living room also had portraits and photos, along with other small things like vases and figurines on the shelves. 

"This is er uh, a nice place ya got here, Vinny! I like the paintings." John smiled, walking towards a painting Vincent made in 6th grade, according to the writing on the bottom of the paper. The drawing was made with watercolor. It looked to be of a lavender field, purple flowers and green stems mixing together, with a light blue sky, splattered with small wispy clouds.

"I'm glad you like the place. It's been a bit more quiet since the issue- Dad really isn't..himself. He tries to be though." Van Gogh sighed, as he walked over to look at the painting that John was ever so interested in.

"Man, you were uh, able to paint this in 6th grade!? Gee, I could er uh, barely draw a stick figure in 6th grade! You've got some real talent there lil' buddy! Some of that er, art DNA!" 

"I wouldn't consider it talent..just luck I guess. It isn't even that good. The colors are off, there's a smudge here and there, there's a piece of watercolor chalk right there..." Van Gogh would continue to list numerous 'mistakes' about his art. It was mind-blowing how many he could list. John didn't even care for 3/4 of them, it's what made the art unique.

"Vinny. Hold your horses." John cut him off, to which Van Gogh abruptly stopped confused. "Can't you list ONE thing good about your art? Just ONE thing?" 

Van Gogh stayed silent as he stared at the art, but then, he looked at John. "Well..there isn't something I like about the art itself, but..I do like who is holding the art." Van Gogh caught himself just too late, realizing what he had said. He stayed silent, petrified with fear, while John stared at him, confused, and ever so slightly flustered, being caught off guard. 

"Oh- er, thanks..! I know, my looks are pretty nice. I'm practically a work of art!" John smiled.

"I- just- forget I ever said that, alright? Now, where were we- oh, yes, uhm, I guess the..quality of..paper the art was made on..is alright? There, I said something nice about the art." Vincent huffed, as he looked away to the side.

"That's not really about the art but I'll er uh, take it! Hey, come on, let's er uh, go look at some more of your funky art!" John grabbed Van Gogh's hand as he walked down the hallway. Today was going to be a long (somewhat exciting) day.


	5. NOTE

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I'M SO SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING!! IM SUPER SUPER BUSY WITH SCHOOL AND JUST KEEP FORGETTING TO WRITE :sob: IM SO SORRY YALL...I'LL MAKE THIS NEXT CHAPTER SUPER LONG AND GOOD WITH A BIT OF DRAMA TO MAKE UP FOR IT


End file.
